


It's a Cold and it's a Broken Hallelujah

by Fox (Foxen)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Loss of Identity, On the Run, Post-Order 66, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25562851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxen/pseuds/Fox
Summary: "Why didn't you tell me?"Ahsoka hesitates, unsure what he means. "Tell you...what?""How much I look like them."
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 21
Kudos: 111





	It's a Cold and it's a Broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> So. I watched the finale to Clone Wars the other day. And busted out the first draft of this fic in four hours on my phone. I got 4 hours of sleep that night lmao.
> 
> It started out with an amusing thought that quickly went south to Angst Town.
> 
> I have a lot of....very strong feelings still about the Clones and Rex and Ahsoka. So. This definitely won't be the last of them from me.
> 
> HUGE thanks to Kata and EG for walking me through this and doing such awesome beta work. You two rock.

The weeks following Order 66 are fraught with danger. Both Ahsoka and Rex are wanted dead, supposed traitors of the Republic. Or, what  _ was _ the Republic. Everything is in chaos now, and no one seems to know what the sides are anymore, or who is leading whom.

Not that they can afford to trust anyone right now. As much as it hurts the both of them, they know that they can't trust  _ any  _ of the clones they see. Not right now. How many had defective chips? Were any of them missed during the implantation stage of their development? Is there another reason any of them could be free of the chip's influence? They didn't know, and only time will tell. They hope.

They've been on the run for a week or two--it feels like an eternity--and they've had little time to rest. Not that either of them  _ wants _ to rest. No. Resting means time for wandering thoughts, and wandering thoughts inevitably lead to pain. 

But they can't keep pushing forward like they are, so Rex makes the decision to find somewhere to crash for a few days. It's there that Ahsoka finally notices Rex's hair.

It's grown out a fair bit in the last few weeks; the surgical plate the medical droid had put in place after removing the chip is still there, a stark contrast to the new hair growth around it. The roots are showing dark under what Ahsoka now realizes are bleached tips. 

She starts to smile at the thought of her friend meticulously dying his hair after each trim, but it quickly dies when she realizes that it's yet one more interrupted routine.

The lights of the dingy room flicker as they finish their meager meal in silence. Ahsoka looks at Rex before hesitantly murmuring, "Rex, your hair..."

He lets out a huff, something between a sigh and a laugh, and rubs self-consciously at his head. 

"Yeaaaahhhh," he says roughly, "I know. I was actually thinking about doing something about it tonight." He doesn't look at her, choosing instead to pick at the sleeve of his under-armor.

Ahsoka's heart aches at the sight; she's not sure she could ever remember a time when she saw Rex look ruffled or uncertain. The longer he’s away from all he’s ever known, the more off-balance and unsure he becomes. She finds she can relate all too well, having recently experienced her own identity crisis.

She chews at her lip before asking, "Do you need any help?"

He's quiet, his hands still on the rickety table before him, eyes distant. Ahsoka is about to retract her question when he shakes his head.

"Nah," he says. "I can handle it just fine." He pauses for a second, shooting her a glance. "Thanks, though."

Ahsoka nods and moves to take a seat on the lumpy mattress Rex insisted she use, that he would be just fine on the floor, Commander. She sighs and goes to pull out her lightsabers, intending to go through the nightly routine of cleaning and polishing them, only to stop when her fingers find nothing but a blaster at her side. She groans and leans back, a mattress spring stabbing her in the hip.

Right. She has her own ruined routines. Despite it being nearly a fortnight since the Order - since she dropped her sabers to the ground and never looked back - she's moved to polish and clean them every single night.

She hates it.

The sound of an old razor starting up draws her out of her spiraling thoughts and she looks over to watch Rex standing by the fresher. He's leaning awkwardly in an attempt to see his reflection in the cracked mirror. She has no idea where he might have found the razor, and wonders idly if it's something he just keeps in his kit. 

Front to back. Front to back. Rex moves the razor methodically through his hair, the lighter ends falling away to dust the sink and his shoulders. Once his hair is trimmed down to its usual length, he moves on to remove his facial hair.

Ahsoka closes her eyes at the rhythmic hum of the razor; it's unexpectedly soothing. 

When it stops, she opens an eye and looks back over at Rex. He dusts off his shoulders and the counter before moving to his helmet, setting the razor down next to it. He stretches his arms over his head and rolls his neck from side to side before turning to her.

"Rest. I'll take first watch."

"You sure?" She asks. "Do you think we actually need to keep watch here?" His blank stare is answer enough and she sighs again. "Fine…" She blinks, taking in his trimmed hair; it’s still dark. "Are you not going to dye it?"

"No point. It's fine."

She sincerely has her doubts, but she lets it go. She shifts on the bed in a vain attempt to get comfortable and closes her eyes again. "If you say so," she says. She cracks an eye back open and looks at him. "Wake me up in four hours."

"Yes, ma'am."

\-----

More days turn into more weeks, and Ahsoka loses track of the planets they stop on. They're all a blur at this point, and none of them are safe. Planet after planet is under occupation, the streets and villages guarded by clone troopers in unpainted armor, every one of them the exact same.

She cuts her eyes to the man sitting next to her, his helmet resting at his side. 

They're on some backwater planet, camping out a short distance from the small village they’ve happened across. It's one of the few places they've encountered so far that isn't under some form of control. Rex's eyes are distant as he watches the locals go about their business, the dark circles under them pronounced against his sallow skin. 

His hair is getting long again, the dark strands having enough length and weight to lay down somewhat. Ahsoka can't help but find the look unnerving, as each day that passes makes him look more and more like every other clone and less like  _ Rex _ . She doesn't comment on it, however, as she's uncertain what she can even say.

_Hey, Rex. I get that you're a clone and all that, and that we're on the run right now….but do you think you could do something about your hair? You're looking a bit too much like Jesse without the tattoos, or Fives without the attitude,_ _or any clone trying to kill me right now..._

Yeah, right. 

"Hair’s getting long again," she comments, gazing over the valley before them.

Rex grunts.

Ahsoka lets that go, too.

\--

Later that day, as the suns are setting and their small campfire flickers blue and green from the chemicals in the native bark, Rex goes about cleaning each piece of his armor. As with everything he does, he is careful and methodical with his cleaning, starting with his boots and shin-guards and working his way up, piece by piece, before setting them aside. 

It isn't a common routine anymore, but one they both find soothing. The soft sounds the strokes of the cloth make against the metal; the smell of the cheap polish he has managed to find; the rhythmic motions of wiping the cleaner on, working it into the metal, and then off again. It is a rare thing for them to not only have a moment to breathe, but also feel safe enough to do so, and they both relax as Rex moves through the routine.

Ahsoka is staring up at the foreign night sky, trying to see if she can identify any familiar constellations, when she feels an abrupt shift in the air around them.

No, not the air itself. The mood. 

Rex's mood, to be exact.

Ever since that moment on the ship’s bridge, when she was nearly overwhelmed by the terror and rage and hate flowing through the Force, she's made it a point to keep herself shut off from it as much as possible. And even when she wasn't actively keeping it at bay, she never pried into the emotions or thoughts of others. 

It's a shock, then, to suddenly be privy to Rex's, even if she can't distinguish what he's actually feeling.

She sits up quickly, body tense and alert, ready for an attack. But Rex is still sitting by the fire, this time with his helmet in hand.

"Rex?" She asks tentatively, watching his normally rock-steady hands tremble minutely as he holds his helmet. He's looking straight into the visor.

She's about to get up when he speaks, voice jagged and breaths harsh. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ahsoka hesitates, unsure what he means. "Tell you...what?"

"How much I look like them."

She knows immediately what he means now, despite the seemingly obvious answer to his statement. Of course he looks like them; they are all genetically the same. But they  _ aren't _ the same. None of them are. Fives and Cody and Tup. Jesse. Echo and Cut. Every other clone in existence. Each is their own unique being with a personality of their own, their own likes and dislikes and wants. Each one had found a way to make themselves stand apart, whether it was through their spoken bravado, the tattoos on their scalp, or the way they cut and colored their hair.

"I- I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure…. wasn't sure what you wanted."

His fingers flex, the tremor in his hands growing more pronounced. Ahsoka shifts to her feet and quietly pads over to him.

"I don't. I don't know what I wanted. What I want. I thought….I thought it wouldn't matter. The color of my hair, I mean.  _ Why does it matter?  _ It shouldn't. But I can't...I can't look at myself and not see  _ them _ . Not when I look like this." A shaky tone has crept into his voice and she moves closer to him. "I don't know who I am anymore, Ahsoka. I look at myself and I don't see  _ me _ . And it’s not because of my hair." He looks up at her then, and for the second time in all the years she's known him, his eyes are brimming with tears. "Who am I? Without a war, without direction…who am I?" 

Feeling her own eyes fill with tears, she steps in front of Rex and gently removes the helmet from his unprotesting hands. She places a hand on his damp cheek, much like she did what feels like eons ago, now, and meets his eyes steadily.

"You are Rex. The best soldier I've ever met and probably will ever meet. You are a clone," she continues, "one of millions. But you are  _ you _ ." She swallows harshly and a tear slides down her cheek. Rex shuts his eyes tight and his breath hitches slightly. "You are unique, and special, and enough just as you are. You are strong, and just, and loyal, and one of my very best friends. And," her voice cracks, "I'm so glad to know  _ you _ ."

Rex leans into her then, his head pressed into her torso, his arms around her waist. He doesn't make much noise as he cries; instead, his body shakes with the intensity of each silent sob. Ahsoka lets her own tears fall and cradles his head to her, running her fingers gently through his hair.

He stops shaking, eventually, his tears turning into wet sniffles, but he doesn't move away from her. She continues to hold him, not needing the Force to know that he's got something he needs to say and knowing better than to interrupt him.

"I miss them," he says brokenly. "I miss them so--" his breath hitches again and more tears fall. "So much."

"I know, Rex," she says. "I know. I miss them too." 

They stay like that for a long while, the suns having made their descent some time ago. The fire isn't much more than embers now, and the breeze has a chill to it.

Rex sits back eventually, his arms dropping to his sides. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, needing him to help keep herself steady.

He doesn't look at her when he speaks. "Ah,  _ kriffing _ hell, Ahsoka. I didn't--" 

"Don't apologise," Ahsoka interrupts, keeping her eyes trained on him. He turns to her and their eyes meet. "Never apologise for acknowledging and feeling your emotions."

He gives her a crooked, watery smile. "I thought Jedi renounced emotions. Pretended they didn't exist."

She raises an eyebrow at him, silently rejoicing in the return of his dry, teasing humor. "Well, I'm not a Jedi, now, am I?"

"No, I suppose you're not."

"Besides," she says, voice serious, "I don't think ignoring their emotions ever did a Jedi good, anyway."

They're silent again for a moment, and this time it's a contemplative silence. One that feels like possible new beginnings.

"Would you-"

"Hmm?"

"Would you...like help with your hair this time?"

"...sure."

"Am I helping you dye it, too?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm ready to be me again."

"Good."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are awesome and comments feed the soul! <3


End file.
